Just an Average Gothamite
by LeightAiden777
Summary: Being a normal middle-class kid in Gotham is not easy, not with the psychos running around, the bad and the supposedly good. Being a not so normal kid in Gotham? Yeah, it's even worst. OR The story of the completely average boy who bulldozed his way in the batfamily by being completely not average.
1. Prologue

**Title: Just an Average Gothamite  
Genre: Crime, Friendship, Hurt/ Comfort, Romance  
Pairing: Jason Todd X OC  
Summary: Being a normal middle-class kid in Gotham is not easy, not with the psychos running around, the bad and the supposedly **_**good**_**. Being a not so normal kid in Gotham? Yeah, it's even worst.****  
OR  
The story of the **_**completely average**_** boy who bulldozed his way in the batfamily by being completely **_**not average**_**.****  
Warning: Slash (Yaoi, Boy X Boy…), OC-Centric, kind-of god-like but not really, OC is a clumsy noodle who just so happens to have more power than he knows what to do with**

* * *

**Prologue**

Life for normal civilians in Gotham was not easy. However, gothamites also tended to be made of harder stuff than those from the other cities. As such when psychos like the Joker, Two-Face and even Batman appeared, all they could do was power through. For as long as Tom could remember, they had been a part of life in Gotham. It was not easy when the Joker escaped Arkham or when Scarecrow decided to release his fear gas, but as a gothamite, it was almost _normal_. He still had his parents and his little baby brother; he still had his friends at school who lived the same life as him. He could not exactly complain.

Except… except he knew he was not completely _normal_ either and in Gotham that was the same as having a noose hanging over your head.

It began when he was seven. No, wait; it began _earlier_. It began with… dreams.

Like any normal child, he dreamt of the fantastic, of things he knew could never be true to him. He dreamt of flying, soaring through the skies without any obstacles. He dreamt of running just as fast as the Flash. He dreamt of being as strong as Superman. He also dreamt of other normal things, like going to school and playing with his friends, of having great adventures with his best friend, of taking his father's car for a joyride. But like any dream, they were simply the innocent dreams of a child. What made them different were the… whispers that occasionally made themselves known.

When he was younger, the whispers were so quiet that they seemed more like a little buzzing in his ears, a little background noise he almost did not notice. But then, as he grew, so did they in volume. He could never make out what they said. Sometimes, they seemed feminine in nature, a soft crooning or a soothing melody. Sometimes, they seemed coming from a child, high-pitched and cheerful. Other times, they appeared old and weary, tired and wispy.

It was at the age of seven that things started to really change for him; everything became far more noticeable. His dreams… changed and became _nightmares_. Whatever he saw he forgot as soon as he woke up, with only phantom whispers following him throughout the day and the constant feeling of terror and sadness that refused to leave him. Then as he grew, he became _used_ to the constant terror until it tempered off. At this point, he was pretty sure nothing could faze him for long. He could feel horror like the average person but _fear _on the other hand… He forgot what it felt like by the time he was twelve.

And that was when the whispers started to make sense.

And honestly? At that point, he was not even surprised when he found out what this was all about.

Tom, however, was just Tom. _Tom_ was an average Gothamite with an average family, living in an average neighbourhood. He was pretty content with his life.

So, what if he was not exactly as average as he wished he truly was?

What if he was a god in human form?

He was still the same boy who tripped over his own feet, the same boy with crippling social anxiety, the same boy who made only two friends in his whole life and the same boy who _adored _his brother and loved his parents.

Who cared about everything else? He was very happy being just an Average Gothamite.

* * *

**AN: A new story I've been thinking about but mostly self-indulgent. I have no idea where I'm taking this since the original idea was actually way different but we'll see.**

**Leave behind your thoughts!**

**Leight**


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: Just an Average Gothamite  
Genre: Crime, Friendship, Hurt/ Comfort, Romance  
Pairing: Jason Todd X OC  
Summary: Being a normal middle-class kid in Gotham is not easy, not with the psychos running around, the bad and the supposedly **_**good**_**. Being a not so normal kid in Gotham? Yeah, it's even worst.  
OR  
The story of the **_**completely average**_** boy who bulldozed his way in the batfamily by being completely **_**not average**_**.  
Warning: Slash (Yaoi, Boy X Boy…), OC-Centric, kind-of god-like but not really, OC is a clumsy noodle who just so happens to have more power than he knows what to do with**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Tom had nothing to do with the heroes and villains. The closest he had ever been to any kind of crime was that one time the bank he had accompanied his mom to had been taken as hostage by armed men but after the GCPD came, things went back to normal. True, some people got hurt, a couple died, but nothing happened to him nor his mom so he was just content to keep his head down like everyone else. Beside this was Gotham; something like this happened all the time in one's lifetime at least once when you were from Gotham.

Life went on. He went to school as usual. He made sure never to be out of the house after dark. He stayed home when things went ugly in the streets.

Not once did he encounter any of the actual psychos their city was infamous for, not the villain and certainly not the heroes either.

Sure, every kid was pretty happy discussing Batman and Robin at school. Who would not? They were their local heroes after all.

Then everything changed for the young boy.

He did not know until later that it was the day Robin died.

He was thirteen when it happened. He had only just finished a project from school and was getting ready for bed, knowing that the next day was going to be uncomfortable with the little sleep he was likely to get. He was thankfully in his room, alone, when the sudden sense of complete _wrongness_ filled him. For a moment, he was confused. He looked around himself to make sure everything was in their right place, checked under his blanket to make sure Nate had not sneaked his way into his bed again while he was not looking, but nopes, everything was where they were supposed to be and there was no baby brother in bed.

Right as he was about to dismiss the completely irrational feeling, a sudden warm flush went through his body starting from his toes to his head. He shivered. With a frown, he hesitatingly peeked out his window to the rest of Gotham but the city was silent. Oddly so in fact; Gotham was _never_ silent. It was almost as if the calm before the storm.

Rubbing his arms, Tom decided to ignore whatever this was and go to sleep. Whatever it was had nothing to do with him.

It was a few days later that it was all over the news; Jason Todd-Wayne, Bruce Wayne's adopted son was dead. Tom had no idea why this was important but for whatever reason, despite Jason Todd-Wayne being just an average boy, albeit one adopted by their resident billionaire, _Gotham was mourning_. Tom felt it in his bones, in each step he took on his way to school, with each caress of the wind on his cheeks… _Gotham was mourning and She would not freaking let him sleep_.

At night while he was supposed to be asleep, he heard Her cries in his ears and whatever he did he could not drown them out. Even as he laid in bed on the first floor of his house, he still felt Her trying to _shake him, to get him to move, to – _

He was just an average thirteen years old boy. He was not _supposed _to be anything else but when the city kept nagging at him, there was only so much he could take before he caved.

It was no surprise really, that six months after it all started, he decided to sneak out of the house late one night, more irate than ever and so sleep-deprived he really only wanted this all to end. He grabbed the first clothes he found, a pair of jeans, an oversized sweater and an old pair of sneakers. Quietly, he climbed out of his bedroom window and shimmied his way down by using the drain. Then, of course, because he was Tom, he had not taken one step out of his yard when he tripped over his feet and face-planted in a nearby puddle of mud. He laid there for a moment, asking himself how this was even his life before the mindless _poking_ from the city got to him and he got back to his feet.

He had no idea where to go. He usually stuck to his neighbourhood and the places around his school. With an annoyed huff, he allowed the city to tug him where She wanted him to go. She guided him in such a way that he encountered absolutely no one on the way which was a good thing since he really did not want to deal with being mugged along with anything else.

It took a long while, he had no idea how long, before he reached the destination. It was no surprise really since the city sometimes made him go in circles to avoid people.

The cemetery was creepy at this time of night and being surrounded by so much death made his skin crawl in a not completely _un_pleasant way which made the whole thing weirder. There was no one around and that was a good thing since he really did not want to have to explain what was to come to anyone.

The city guided him through twists and turns before he found the right grave.

_._

_._

_Here lies Jason Todd_

.

.

Well it was definitely the right place. He spent a moment standing in front of it, staring at the marked grave wondering why this one boy was so important to the city. The next nudge from said city made his eyebrow twitch in irritation before he scowled and knelt down in front of the grave.

"I'm _getting_ to it," he grumbled under his breathe. He laid his palms flat on the earth where he was pretty sure the coffin was supposed to be, closed his eyes and just… felt. Yep, there it was, only a few feet under and inside, a body far too small for its fate. The unexpected nudge from Gotham felt hard enough this time that he could almost feel it physically. He almost went sprawling but he regained his balance with an impressive use of flailing, pinwheeling arms. When he was sure his face was not going to meet the ground – he still had crusted mud over his face and he really did not want a sore nose along with this – he slapped an irate hand over the earth. "Stop that," he hissed. "I'm getting your boy out so stop _rushing_ me."

He was just thirteen years old; he was not supposed to deal with a nagging woman who was not his mother. Hell, his own mother was not as nagging.

With another huff, he placed his palms back on the grave and reached, not physically because nothing of what he did was ever really physical – he had freaking noodle arms that buckled under the weight of grocery bags after all. He moved pass the dirt and worms, through the wood of the coffin and back to the skill, stiff body inside. He eased the joints and just… breathed. He breathed life back into that same still body that should be decomposing after six months underground. He could almost visualise the _world_ shift at his silent command, visualise the still emaciated body with its arms crossed over its still chest gain back the life stolen from it, get back its muscle mass. The blackened, rotten heart regained its form and then –

… _ba…dum…_

… _ba-dum…_

… _ba-dum – ba-dum – badum_

.

.

Yes!

Tom straightened victoriously and grinned down at the grave – the ground – _the – !_

Well, shit, he did not think this one through.

He immediately slammed his hands back on the ground, hastily reached down and down and – yep. Poor guy was definitely awake and _panicking_, and it was all Tom's fault. Great, the teen was going to die again because Tom was an idiot. A sudden wind slapped him over the head and he winced.

"Yes, I know I'm completely stupid, don't remind me," he cursed under his breath before he got to work. Jason Todd was using his belt buckle to break the coffin which was not a completely bad idea but – ah, yes, there it went. The belt buckle broke and the teen started to use his hands to break his way free. Tom winced at the damage he was doing to his hands but well, he could not really blame the guy.

With a frown, he eased the ground and made it more malleable than it actually was. Jason Todd had an easier time crawling his way up but it was still taking too much time and – oh, whatever! With a click of his tongue, Tom started using his hands to make a hole to meet Jason Todd half-way. Even with the earth as soft as pudding, Tom's arms still tired easily but thankfully it was not long before a hand broke through the earth, followed closely by a body that heaved itself up and out of the grave.

The teenager gasped as he breathed in fresh air, shivering at the cold wind before he collapsed on the ground, right beside Tom who stared with wide eyes at the previously dead teen. He – well, shit, he had not noticed it before with the teen underground but with him so close, he could feel the numerous injuries Jason Todd was supporting and it was no wonder he died. Now he was curious how the teen had died since these were not normal injuries but he knew what was most important was making sure the teen actually _remained_ alive.

With the city ringing triumphantly in his ears, he tentatively reached out and grasped the teen's cold, bloodied hand in his. He did not react as the teen twisted to him with a snarl on his face, body shifting as if to attack him but he did not have the time when Tom _reached_ inside the teen who immediately relaxed. For a moment, the two stayed there in silence until the other teen had relaxed completely but then his expression shifted into a blank one and the feral light from before faded until only dull blue was left in its place.

With a frown, Tom categorised the other's injuries, reached inside further until he found the other's consciousness hiding behind protective barriers. His frown eased in understanding even if he felt saddened. The teen was not ready to be _awake_ and _aware_. Not yet at least. Not for a long time at least. Dying coming back to life was not easy but he had died in a traumatic way and his coming to life was not stress free either. He needed healing and not just physically before he could be _aware_ again.

Hesitating on what to do now, Tom stood up, his hand still holding the other's, his grip almost slack. At first, he had wanted to leave the boy in Gotham's care; the city would not allow anything to happen to this boy She had nagged him to bring back after all. But after everything, after causing another traumatic situation to the boy who had obviously already gone through so much, well, Tom felt guilty enough that he really did not feel like leaving without making sure the other was actually taken care of.

There was a new tug coming from the city, this one gentle but still insistent and Tom sighed.

"You're a freaking demanding lady," he grumbled, annoyed.

"… Bruce…" The sudden raspy voice made him jump, his head snapping back to stare at the teen sitting on the ground in front of him.

"What did you say?" he whispered in wonder.

There was a long pause during which he thought he was not going to get an answer before the same voice rasped a tired, "… Bruce…"

Tom gawked. Because – _holy shit_ – Jason Todd was fighting against the subconscious barriers keeping him safe and sane to actually _talk_ and ask for something! That – that was one _strong_ teenager. He could almost see why Gotham liked the boy so much.

"Bruce."

Tom winced. "Right. Bruce… As in, Bruce Wayne?" he asked but it was not like he really needed the confirmation. This was Bruce Wayne's dead _son_ after all; of course, he would ask for his father.

"Bruce."

"Right. Bruce Wayne." Tom sighed, taking a moment to simply wonder how this was even his life but, well, he could not really leave the teen now, could he? "Right," he repeated. "Well, come on then." He tugged gently on the hand he was still holding and helped the teenager to his feet. The other was still as wounded as he had been when he had died but there was nothing Tom could do about that, not so soon after bringing him back to life. His body needed to process being alive first before he could do that. It would be counterproductive for his body to collapse back on himself after all. Still, he wrapped the other's arm around his shoulders and shouldered most of the other's weight as they started to make their way out of the cemetery, leaving behind an empty grave.

Already occupied with the more or less comatose boy, Tom allowed the city to guide him again to – this time – make their way to where Bruce Wayne lived. It was a long walk and they had to stop a few times, not only because Tom got tired quickly carrying Jason Todd's weight but the other could not walk the long distance without feeling pain. Tom tried to ease the pain by reaching inside the other and 'flushing' his body a few times but it could only help so far since the other was still injured.

When they reached the Wayne residence, Tom was left staring at the tall gates in front of them. The _closed_ tall gates. _How_ was he supposed to get closer if he could not even go through freaking metal gates?

"What _now_, genius?" he grumbled at Gotham. He could almost hear the mischievous giggle befor the ground shook and the gate rattled and – yep, it broke open and the metal bent enough that the two of them could slip through with some wiggling. "How am I supposed to explain _that_?" he sighed wearily. The little hair ruffling that Jason got from the wind felt almost like a taunt. The slap on _his_ butt from the wind was _definitely_ a taunt. "Yeah, how am I even supposed to explain _that_ too?" he asked rhetorically.

The walk down the long driveway and to the freaking manor standing tall in front of them was long but thankfully, not as long as the walk from the cemetery.

And then the both of them were standing on front of the front door and the only thing he could do was… ring the bell.

.

.

_How the hell _was_ he supposed to explain this_ mess?

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**AN: Tom is... well, he does not think things through. He is impulsive and has a one-track mind as you can see.**

**I hope you like it.**

**Do leave behind your thoughts.**

**Leight**


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